Obsession
by Maddy Soup
Summary: [AU] I thought he knew that he was mine, and when I found out he didn’t know, I made damn sure to set the record straight. I knew this feeling was unhealthy from the start. [RS][Rated M for a reason.]


**Summary**

(AU) I thought he knew that he was mine, and when I found out he didn't know, I made damn sure to set the record straight. I knew my love was unhealthy from the start. (R+S)(Rated M for a reason.)

**The Soup Can**

I really don't know what the hell is wrong with me. I try to continue writing 'Envy,' and my determination to write, my Rory CD, and one of my all-time favorite novels Lolita (I hold a very rare copy; a hardcover given to me by an off-beat aunt, as directed in her will, when I was ten) mixed together and gave me…this?

By the way; has anyone ever noticed that the phrase "Thank you very much," doesn't really make sense? 'Very' and 'much' are both adverbs, are they not? And you can't describe 'much' as being 'very,' so is this phrase a grammatical oversight or is it just me? Tell me if you have the answer, because I'd really love to know. Thanks!

Kittens,

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_**WARNING  
**_**This fic contains:  
**-Yaoi-  
-Drug usage-  
-Graphic smut-  
-Graphic violence-

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_**Soupie proudly presents,**_

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_**Begin Part I**_

_Sora._

Just say the name; it's wonderful, isn't it? _So-ra._ Two vowels and two consonants; one's tongue slides delicately along the pallet of one's mouth to create the seductive slur of an 'S,' and then darts back and out of the way for an explosion of innocence and sunshine and 'o,' and finally ends, resting, delicately pushing against the back of your lower teeth. _Sora_ is the sound that sirens made to their victim sailors, bringing them to the brinks of ecstasy before slaying them down. It's the rhythm in which my heart beats, and the dangerous, taunting whisper of lust in my soul.

_Sora…Sora…_

Spelled backwards, it is pronounced Aros; remarkably similar to that of the god of love, Eros, in mythology. And Sora is just that to me; a god of love, an object of admiration and adoration; in my arms, I became Eros, and he Psyche, so tiny and lithe, yet so daunting and tempting. Sinful being.

I digress.

I'll start with my first meeting with Sora.

Now, I'll admit, I've always been a bit eccentric—introverted and uninterested in others—and thus my social downfall was an early and acceptable aspect for me. At best, I'm very quiet and observant, rarely one to comment or add my thoughts. Things were always safe for me, because I was in complete control. That's what drew me to speed, in my opinion; I needed an excuse to let myself fall back on, a reason for me to act without consequence and not smear my enigmatic reputation.

So when I first saw the boy, working diligently in the restaurant, I didn't show my star-struck cupid-smitten countenance right away. I was on a business meeting, and my façade was especially strong that day, because my client was an especially intuitive girl. I was relieved that she hardly noticed when my gaze flickered from her to he, but she raised an eyebrow at the light lull in my speech that I passed off with a quick fake sneeze. I couldn't stop myself from staring, for only a moment, because he was perfect; so light in the darkness of the place; a dab of dark red on a spotless white canvas, the splash of cream to a black coffee, a meteor shooting across a dark sky.

I tried to pass off his existence, I really did. I paid for our meal and left, never expecting to think about the adorable brunette with his pouty candy-apple-red lips or his pale, smooth skin, or his sparkling, intuitive, china blue eyes meeting mine for the smallest of seconds, gracing me with the beauty of his smile before he went back to bussing tables.

The next time I thought of him was weeks later, leaning over my own coffee table, a straw positioned at my nose and readily directed at a trail of magical white fairy dust just waiting to fill my head with demons, waiting to set them free and let them eat my mind while I sat, dazed and euphoric, aware and yet not.

It was a Pepsi can lying empty on the counter that set his image off in my mind. It was one of those blue ones, you know? And before I knew it he was filling my mind with sweet promises of marvelous things that might happen. He was sitting on my lap, moving against me, whimpering into my ear and driving me mad with want, but my hands were so heavy, I couldn't lift them to hold him. It was maddening; I wanted to reach up and touch his soft, butter-cream skin, but I couldn't, no matter how hard I tried.

When I finally sobered up, I knew I had to see him again.

I won't go into gory details about what I had to do before I went to see him—had to make sure I didn't jump him, after all, and sometimes you just can't help things like that if you're in such a condition—so I'll skip that two hour period, starring myself, my hand, and a Pepsi can to remind me of my hallucinations.

I sniffed another round before I left, and he was there to greet me at the door; he was more breathtakingly beautiful than I had remembered. His eyes twinkled like the stars reflecting in dark water, and his precious little mouth opened the slightest before he spoke, giving me a glimpse of pure white teeth against those rosy lips, and a tiny pink tongue, expertly tapping against his incisors to form words that I could feel against my skin.

"Table for one, sir?"

"Yes," I answered, breathless, and he sat me in his section with a bright smile. He handed me the menu, and the movement of his fingers against the top was _anything_ but platonic. He was flirting with me with his hands, I was so sure.

"I'll be with you shortly."

My heart slammed in my chest, and I found it incredibly hard to swallow as I took in the double meaning of his words. We would be together shortly; he would be with me, mine, shortly. Somewhere in my coke-infested mind, this all made sense. He was as smitten with me as I was with him. He knew about my hallucinations, and he wanted them to be real as much as I did. The thought made me _salivate._

I was convinced by the end of the night that he wanted me. Little signs told me so. For example, I recall faintly, that when he brought me my coffee and pastry, the strawberry looked abnormally like a heart. Of course, if one were to not be high, one would see that clearly, all strawberries look a bit like hearts, but I was so sure at the time. And when he brought me my check after swiping my credit card, the pen was pointing towards where my name was to be written. He was thinking about me, so much! Lovely little nymph.

"Have a good night, sir!" he chirped (a perfect coordination of tongue and lips and teeth), and I left him a twenty-dollar tip (rather generous, considering I only ordered a salad, a coffee, and the slice of strawberry shortcake) with a casual wink. His diamond-bright smile was, and still is, in my mind, worth everything in the world. It was the sort of smile that you would move mountains just to glimpse again. I craved it.

Upon my sobering, as usual, I examined my prior actions and labeled them completely nonsensical, yet I could not get the little brunette out of my mind. The restaurant became something I approached timidly, like an uncertain child, testing the water before deciding to jump in or not. And it was then that I first heard the musical symphony that was his name.

I was walking by, and he happened to be coming outside, apparently done with his shift. He caught my staring eye, and when I refused to look away, he flushed a rather appealing shade of rouge. I may have grinned, or maybe not, because my heart was trying to jump out of my ribs and run to him, lying before his feet to pick up or step on and squish, his choice.

"Sora, let's go!"

That name...a simple word, yet one so full of dazzle and beauty...Sora...Sora..._Sora..._

I had to make him mine.

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End file.
